


Clockwork Angels

by Saint



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Automaton, Clock Work, Multi, Religion, Religious Conflict, Steampunk, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint/pseuds/Saint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Victorian Era, one brilliant clockmaker develops something fantastic and ground shakingly wonderful.  Some call them angels.</p><p>
  <i>Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heav’n and Earth with alleluias rang.
Hurry when Creation has begun,
'Ere the Church speak and you be done. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birthday

It was, when you boil down to it, a blatant display of wealth and gluttony. 

Nobles, in true noble form, had chosen this night to celebrate the world they live in. Tonight was a night to rejoice in the life they had been born into. Fantastic imported dresses of every color and lace spun through the marble ball room and weaved their way through the gilded pillars that dominated the sidelines. Chatter expedited by the expensive wine in expensive glasses filled the hallow chamber with even hallower words. Piano music composed by prodigies long-dead tiptoed through the air and slipped past busy ears unheeded. 

It was, in essence, a parade of surplus.

John Egbert sipped from his glass. It took a conscious effort not to grimace at the pungent taste. He hated wine; it had a dominate flavor. Wine forced itself onto ones tongue and sat there, permeating the sinuses and rudely demanding the imbibers attention. _Look at me!_ it would scream. _I am expensive and exotic, and I deserve your attention! Are you paying attention? ARE you? You're not even looking at me, really, how rude-_

He blinked, returning his attention to the lady before him. 

"Really, Jonathan! I know you're bored, but you can at least _pretend_ to care, can't you?" Miss Lalonde clicked her tongue, pausing to adapt her painted lips to the rim of her crystal goblet. She was enjoying some boringly dry white wine, and John patiently waited as she enjoyed her sip. He counted the seconds she took to get such a tiny amount of liquid into her mouth and enjoy the heady flavor. Her eyes fluttered shut for the duration of her intake. After what seemed like an eternity, she parted from the glass and resumed her tirade.

Ten seconds.

"What would your father think, hmmm? All he ever talks about is how so very proud he is, and here you are, daydreaming about...steam boats, or...horses...or girls or whatever it is boys your age think about. Is one night too much to ask for, Jonathan? What would your father say?" She paused, making it clear that his input was required.

It seemed as though eternity were taking its sweet precious time on this particular patch of space.

"My apologies, Miss Lalonde. You have my attention." More to placate her than anything else, he spoke. Words tripped from his lips and joined with the others that mingled through the stale air. With a herculean amount of effort he focused, giving Lalonde the barest amount of attention required to keep her happy. The tribute seemed please her and a smile crossed her full lips.

"Jonathan, you are a treat. Like I was saying, Rose-you remember what I was saying about her last time, don't you dear? You used to go on play-dates when you were younger, you two were _the_ most **adorable** pair, and I don't say that lightly, you know! You could have asked your grandmother; Jane would have agreed, Church rest her soul-you two used to be _such_ good friends it just tore my heart to _pieces_ when you reached that point where you thought girls were icky, and I know Rose was just as distressed as I was even though she never said so-she can be so tight lipped and passive aggressive, but you already know that-and it's been, what? Two, three years now? The two of you have been getting alone wonderfully these past few months and it absolutely warms my heart. Your father will be back in a matter of months now with the Crusade going the way it is, and it'd be such a _shame_ for the two of you to go back to being so cold and argumentative all the time like you used to. You're a maturing young man, Jonathan, you must be at least...fifteen by now? Yes, fifteen, I got you that quilt I had the maid knit you for your last birthday, remember? Anyways, since you two have matured so much since then, I was considering scheduling a get-together for the both of you at "Au Poivre"! Not a date-date! Of course! A play date! Since you two have gotten along so well lately after all, and I know she'd be _thrilled_ to enjoy the evening with you. There would be music, daaancing, the most wonderful food-"

John had zoned out well into the conversation, adopting a mask of polite interest to leave his mind free to wander. To be honest, he didn't care much for Rose in "that way". Her attempts to "dig into his brain" as she so eloquently put it were rather disconcerting. They got along well enough, and Rose _did_ challenge him, but it was a mutual distaste for the elder Lalonde that really bound them together. His father had insisted he at least _attempt_ to make friends with the girl, if for no other reason than to build connections with other fledgling nobles of his age, but the grown ups subtle undertones of romance hadn't escaped either of their attentions. During their last "play date"-Miss Lalonde's so called coerced dates-they had agreed to remain friends, nothing more. Rose, as it turned out, was just as opposed to pseudo-arranged marriages as he was. 

John was counting the seconds-eight, nine, ten, nod politely, one, two-when the sound of metal on glass rang through the marble ball room. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen if you would, please! Turn your attention to me!" The announcement was accompanied by a another soft *ting* of metal on glass and a resulting shatter. Some one, perhaps a minor noble, had worked his way to the center of the room and ever-so-gently tapped a fork on his crystal wine glass, only for it to shatter and slop its contents all over the floor. He muttered something about fiddlesticks under his breath before looking up and stammering an apology. 

"Terribly sorry, don't quite know my own strength-no, of course I'll pay for the glass, my fault entirely, I just-ah, *ahem!*" He clasped his hands together as a few servants rushed from the sidelines to clean the mess, determined to get back on track. 

"Now that I have your, ah...attention, I would like to provide this evenings entertainment!" He paused, obviously expecting some kind of excited chatter or applause. None was forthcoming. He faltered, but pressed on. "As some of you might know, I...ah...I am Equius D. Zahhak. I am the modest owner of Darkstokes and Clockleer, and I am pleased to see many of my customers amongst the crowd tonight!" He paused to beam around the room and encountered stoney silence. He faltered, then continued.

"Ha, ha-ah, Ha! I am pleased to say that I have created what may very well be refereed to as a 'technological marvel!'" The audiences interest piqued, but not by much. He took what little interest was thrown his way and ran with it. "Gentlemen, if you would..." A few more servants hurried from the shade, wheeling a large wooden crate with them. They set it in the center of the floor and the clockmaker produced a crowbar, holding it aloft for all to see. 

John took the opportunity to slip out from beneath Miss Lalonde's scrutiny, merging into the crowd. She didn't seem to notice, as the ceremony dominating the ballroom floor had absorbed the entirety of her attention. He worked his way through the throngs to the other side, casting a wayward glance at the developing spectacle. The man was well dressed, if untidy. His clothes weren't gilded with silver and gold, as was the other nobles, but were humble and spartan. It seemed fitting, somehow, though he stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the finery that surrounded him.

With a resounding crack that echoed through the marble ballroom, the man wedged his crowbar into the soft wood of the crate, leaning against it with all his might. The side creaked with protest before snapping and tumbling to the floor. A peculiarly-shaped mass cloaked in a soft bed of straw rolled out, landing awkwardly on its side. The clockmaker grinned and stepped forward, brushing away the straw as gently as he could and pulling the...thing into an upright position. 

It was a girl. Or at least, it looked like a girl. She was short, about shoulder height to the man, and her skin was much paler than any living humans. Messy black hair with bits of straw stuck out at odd ends and trickled down her back of her neck. It was only after he spun her around to brush the straw from her back did the tail come into view; an odd, vibrant blue thing, nearly brushing the floor. The clockmaker waved off to the side and a few more service men rushed out, one holding a brush and the other a set of simple clothes. The remaining debris was brushed from her hair and the tunic and breeches were slipped onto her naked form, taking extra care to avoid snagging her tail. Zahhak stepped around the silent figure and inspected its form once more. The crowd murmured in a delighted interest. 

John couldn't help but stare. She was...beautiful. The presentation was obviously non-sexual, but he couldn't help that his eyes were drawn to her modest chest or her shallow hips. He was fifteen, after all. She was a humble figure, in all honesty, but she was still the first unclothed female he'd ever seen outside of the crudely drawn breasts scrawled in the corners of his notebooks. He blushed, glancing around to ensure he hadn't been caught staring before looking back.

He managed to check in time to watch her form disappear beneath the coarse shirt and breeches. John pursed his lips in disappointment, mentally scolding himself. Miss Lalonde's words echoed through his mind. What would his father say, indeed.

With an exaggerated flourish, Zahhak produced a large brass key from his pocket. Carefully, as not to damage his creation with his too-strong hands, he bent her over ever so slightly and pushed aside a small flap on the back of her shirt. With butterfly fingertips, he slipped the key into some unseen slot with a gentle *click.* The entire ballroom was hushed, wine sitting unsipped in crystal goblets. A series of small clicks emanated from her spine as he spun the key, growing louder and more strained with each revolution. After four or five solid turns he stopped and slipped the key free. With an almost father-like tenderness, he straightened her back up before kneeling at her feet and pressing his ear between her petite breasts. His eyes closed and he seemed to freeze, locked in time and space as he listened to something that only he could hear. 

John counted.

A shallow grin crept across the clockmakers face. 

Nine seconds.

The mans eyes parted and he stood back up, walking slowly to the edge of the crowd. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you for your viewing pleasure and judgement; the worlds very first automaton. Her name is Nepeta." He seemed to be positively bursting with glee. 

"And today is her birthday."


	2. Awakening

It was like a scene from a dream. A crowd of nobles standing in hushed silence around a girl in simple clothing. The scent of expensive perfumes and age-old wine entwining in the stale air. Flickering light from a thousand lanterns bearing witness to history in the making.

A twitch.

A ripple of gasps.

John couldn't look away. 

A tremor rocked her frail torso, rolling through her shoulders and passing through every joint. As if possessed, her head swung to the side, the tendons or whatever she was made of tightening with a sudden violence. A few of the braver souls stepped forward, as if to help her, but the clockmaker waved them off.

Another shudder rippled through her frame, then all was still. The audience waited on bated breath. Not a single soul dared to look away.

It was almost a shock when she parted her eyes.

A murmur of excitement rolled through the crowd. She was...she _seemed_ real! The way her head swiveled, surveying the gawking nobles with a wide-eyed innocence, it was so fluid she couldn't have been anything other than alive. Hands, trembling as though flooded with life for the very first time, folded and rose to her chest protectively. The clockmaker parted from the crowd and approached her. He held his open palms forth, taking care to keep his movements slow and gentle. The girl shrunk, backing up to the crate like a cornered animal. Fear coated her every movement like a bitter frost. The clockmaker stopped a short distance away, falling to a knee.

"Hello there."

The girl quivered in response.

"My name is Equius." He spoke as if he were greeting an old friend.

"Equius. Can you say that? Can you say 'Equius?'"

She hesitated, glancing around the enormous, lonely room. He was the only source of warmth. Her lips parted, and the room held its breath.

"Eq...we...us."

The room erupted with excited whispers. The clockmaker held his hand aloft, commanding the nobles into silence once more.

"That's right! My name is Equius. I _made_ you. Today is your birthday! It is a very, very special day. Do you know what your name is?" 

She winced, folding in on herself. After a tentative glance around the room she gave the barest shake of her head. The clockmaker smiled warmly.

"Nepeta. Your name is Nepeta. Nep...et...ta. Can you say that for me?"

"Nep...Nepet...a?"

Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it echoed through the room like a gunshot. John couldn't help but overhear the nobles standing next to him, whispering furtively. 

"There's no way-probably found the wench on the streets, or pulled her from an orphanage; there is no way she's a...what did he call her?"

"Automaton. Not an orphan, probably some minor nobles daughter, wannabe actress-remarkable performance, but acting nonetheless-"

The whispers did not go unnoticed. The clockmaker raised his hand once more and the nobles fell into a begrudging silence. It was only after the died down did he stand and close the distance between him and his creation. She shrunk away, clinging to the edge of the crate for support. He stooped low and offered his hand, a warm smile resting easily on his face. Nepeta, after a moments hesitation, placed her tiny paw within his mammoth grasp.

"Gentleladies and gentlemen, I understand your hesitation. She is perfection; she is the peak of this centuries technological and mechanical advancement. Her movements, her likeness..." He swallowed. "Years of my life and countless man hours have gone into ensuring that she is as close to life as Church will ever allow mankind to get. You will find no seams upon her person. She is, under all appearances...alive."

This certainly caused a storm. A flurry of furious whispers broke out before he had the chance to call for silence once more.

"But. She is not. Though she may walk, though she make talk, she is not alive, nor will she ever experience life; for she lacks something that even the basest and most wretched human poses. For you see," His eyes never left her face, and though he couldn't be certain from so far away, John thought he caught a hint of sorrow. It was as though the clockmaker was...apologizing.

"She has no soul."

The girls face fell. It wasn't clear how much of it she had understood, but no one could mistake the somber news the clockmaker had just delivered. A moment of silence followed his declaration.

"Bollocks." 

John winced as attention in the room swung his general direction, but thankfully he was not the subject of their focus. The noble who had spoken continued on, unabashed. 

"A lovely act, but an act nonetheless. Who is she? Some daughter of some minor noble? A fantastic actress, I am sure. Reminds me of the clown father hired for my birthday." A few chuckles followed his declaration, but the clockmaker didn't find the humor in his accusation. 

"I assure you, young sir, she is an object of my creation; nothing more, nothing less. An illusion of life. A convincing illusion, but just that. An illusion." He paused, examining the disbelief that had spread like wildfire through the crowd. "I...I welcome an examination! I have no shame for my handiwork." He straightened up, bracing himself.

"Who would volunteer, then? Who would care to prove the authenticity of my creation?"

The noble who had spoken suddenly seemed less certain of himself, melting back into the crowd with mumbles of disinterest. As a matter of fact, the entire room seemed to balk at the idea. It was one thing to be the center of attention, but here...here was the unknown. The unknown represented the possibility of embarrassment. 

Nobles did not like to be embarrassed.

"He'll do it!"

John started and twisted around, looking in abject horror as Miss Lalonde waved excitedly over him and drew attention once more his way.

"Jonathan would be more than happy, wouldn't you dear? Go on!" She gave him a gentle nudge, watching him smugly from behind her wine glass. Protests died half-spoken on his tongue as the room stared eagerly, making disappearing into the crowd impossible. He swore inwardly; Miss Lalonde must have followed him through the crowd. It was too late to back out gracefully, not after she had so generously volunteered him for inspection. He took a step forward and promptly forgot how to walk. He tripped. The marble floor rushed up to meet him and he landed with a thud, bruising his palms on the hard surface. Laughter rang out and he contemplated bolting from the room. He probably would have, if he weren't afraid of tripping over his suddenly too-big feet. A few titters mocked his awkward journey to the center of the room, and he couldn't help but count each step.

"Jonathan, was it?" The clockmaker smiled nervously, suddenly regretting allowing such a clumsy boy to inspect the culmination of his life's work.

Twenty.

He nodded dumbly, tongue sitting leadenly in his mouth. Chuckles echoed through the room. Zahhak paused, then slowly stepped back. He glanced between John and Nepeta, last-minute doubt flickering through him like a dying flame before nodding. John hesitated, unsure of what to do. The girl seemed just as confused by the turn of events as he was, crowding the edge of the crate once more.

"It's okay, Nepeta. He's a friend. He wont hurt you." She watched him a moment longer, looking for reassurance from the only being who had ever shown her kindness in her short life. John supposed that when you're only minutes old, you don't have much of a choice in who to trust. With the eyes of the entire noble court watching his every move, he closed the remaining distance.

Her face was soft, humble. Black scraggles of hair tumbled down her forehead, threatening to obscure her vibrant green eyes. They were remarkable eyes; amazingly clear and filled with a sharp awareness that measured his each move. They had to be real. No glass eye can have that measure of clarity. John reached out a hand and, after a quick nod from the clockmaker, pressed his palm to her cheek.

Her skin was smooth and deceptively cold and hard. He held himself there, drinking in her texture. She tilted her head, pressing herself into his hand.

Tick.

Tick, tick tick tick.

He could feel it, the way he would feel a heartbeat. Soft ticks, measuring each of her movements. It was unsettling. It took every ounce of willpower not to jerk his hand away.

Her impossibly clear eyes watched him. Her beautiful, uncannily real eyes. His thumb drifted, rising up and hovering an inch away. 

She didn't blink.

They were glass, after all.


	3. Dance

“She’s not…real.”

The room buzzed with excitement. John let his thumb fall away, a single greasy fingerprint left lingering on her glass eye. She blinked, confused by his statement, and the print washed away.

“I hope that this gentleman’s testimony will assuage you of your doubts, my dear friends. A creation so life-like, that it is only with a close inspection that the illusion can be broken! Her movements so realistic, so bordering on the edge of life that she could walk the streets of our nation without the thought of deception crossing a single citizens mind! Why, had you seen her spinning across the ballroom floor tonight, I doubt that a single one of you would have suspected the gears and clockwork churning deep within her chest! Yes, for the delicate intricacies of dance that so elude even some of those _living_ stand to be easily conquered by my technological marvel!”

The clockmaker waxed on poetically, turning to bask in the excited attention of the nobles and leaving John with the girl. He knew that she wasn’t real; he had felt it himself. It was not a flesh and blood heart that sustained her but one of brass and steel. Still, he couldn’t help but empathize with the imitation. Her wide doe eyes looked around the room in what could only be called a barely contained terror. The lights, the sounds, the over-powering stench of wine and musk; if she were a living being, it would have been a cruel way to bring her into the world. Trembles, either from fear or misfiring gears, shook her slender limbs. 

“-in fact, do not think that I have forgotten my previous claim, my esteemed audience! Tonight’s entertainment has only begun. My creation can dance, and she _will_ dance for your enjoyment and viewing pleasure. Young Jonathan!” John winced. He knew what was coming next.

“Would it not be rude to leave a fair lady to dance without company?” The audience chuckled at his remark, drunk on excitement and anticipation.

“My Nepeta is to dance for us this night, and if you would be so kind as to join her I would be eternally in your debt.” He bowed mockingly, and the audience laughed once more. John threw a sour look over to Miss Lalonde, who stifled a giggle beneath the rim of her glass. No help was coming from the sidelines, it seemed. Gritting his teeth and forcing a smile, he bowed back. The nobles cheered and a smattering of applause broke out as he dipped obnoxiously low, continuing the joke. With a wave from the clockmaker, the orchestra began a tune.

John breathed a sigh of relief. He knew the dance to this song. It was a fairly easy one, too. He’d take her for a brief spin, laugh good-naturedly, then excuse himself back to the sidelines. He could do that. 

The girl, on the other hand, was having second thoughts. She’d jerked as the music started, staring at the orchestra with astonishment. She stared, transfixed, swaying softly to the tune as music once more cut through the stale air of the ballroom.

“Nepeta, dear, it’s time to dance now. Come here, yes, that’s it…” The clockmaker placed a hand on her shoulder, breaking her out of her reprieve. “This man is going to dance with you. It’s easy, just do what he does and you’ll be fine.” 

Her eyes darted between the two of them before looking back to the orchestra.

“Look at me-look at me, Nepeta. This is very important. Do what Jonathan does, and you will be fine, okay? Do you understand me?” She hesitated, glancing at the boy. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded uneasily.

“Good! Jonathan, if you please…” The man more pushed than nudged John into the girl, entangling them together. He stepped back a short distance and watched, clasping his hands with anticipation.

John hesitated, leaning over her awkwardly to avoid falling. Conscious of the tittering nobles throughout the room, he straightened and stepped back, taking care to remember the proper etiquette. Stooping low, he gave his most graceful bow and offered his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Nepeta, just as Zahhak had told her, copied his every move. “Mayahhavelthusdis?”

The room erupted into laughter at her clumsy bow and garbled sentence, and John felt himself loosening up. This wasn’t so bad. It was more like dealing with a child than with a custom-built autonomous piece of clockwork. She straightened up, confused at the sudden laughter.

“No, it’s okay-don’t worry about them,” John whispered with a grin. “They’re mostly drunk anyways.”

“No’skaydunworrybout themmostly drunhk’nyways.” She blasted out another half-garbled sentence, grinning as the room bellowed with good-natured laughter. John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing himself. Taking one of her hands into his, he slipped an arm around her waist and held her in position. Another ripple of laughter echoed as she copied him, her short stature meaning her hand didn’t so much rest on his hips as it did on his ass. John blushed as he slipped her hand into the correct position.

“Oh come on, I didn’t even grab you there!” He whispered furiously as she continued to grin around the room. Thankfully she didn’t repeat him this time but giggled instead. The giggle surprised John, but he shrugged it off. She could walk and talk; he didn’t see why she couldn’t giggle too. He bobbed his head to the tune, counting the beats before picking the right moment to jump in.

Seven.

He pulled her away as the orchestra reached the bridge, playing their way through the iconic rise and falls of the great Dirk Strider’s symphonic melody, _Loveless Dessication._ He’d danced to this song many times before, and he mentally thanked whoever chose this particular tune for the dance. Nepeta seemed startled by the sudden movement, but quickly fell into step. She stumbled at first, her bare feet skipping over the marble floor with unsure footfalls, but as the song wore on her steps became more and more certain, following John’s through every turn. Her shock-blue tail swayed, brushing the floor as she relied less and less upon it to hold her balance. John counted each step, sticking rigidly to the tune lest he grow offstep. 

One two three turn, five six seven step, one two three turn, five six seven step-

The crowd was eating the performance up-granted, it was a simplistic dance, but it was being performed by a being who had only existed for minutes. Already she was mastering the dance, no longer following John but matching him step-for-step. The song approached the climax, the violin concerto building up for the finale. The wood winds backed their build by stair-stepping up a half-beat behind them, matching the percussion and filling the room with a barely-contained frenzy of crashing instruments.

John was getting giddy from the excitement. Already the sidelines were growing with spattered applause, overjoyed with the performance. Shifting his grip on her hand, he pulled her into a twirl as the crescendo broke. Raising her arm above her head, he stepped back and gave her a gentle push. 

She twirled beautifully, as if she’d known what he was going to do all along.

The room broke into thunderous applause. John pulled her back in, grunting as she collided with him. She was heavy and carried more momentum than he expected. So slowly it was almost comical, he tipped backward, eyes going wide as he tumbled to the ground for the second time that night. Flailing, he grabbed hold of her tunic in his panic, hoping to stop his fall. She yelped at the unexpected jerk. Caught off balance, she followed him to the floor. 

John saw a brief flash of stars as the back of his head bounced off the floor, and another as the clockwork girl fell on top of him. The nobles, in true noble form, laughed. John blink painfully, attempting to dispel the ringing in his ears and the flurry of black dots around the corners of his vision.

“…you alrigh…t’s okay, just a fal…ight? Nepeta?” The girl was lifted off him, and with some difficulty he realized the clockmaker had rushed over. He pulled himself to his feet slowly.

“I’m fine, just a bump, I think…” It took him a split second to realize that Zahhak wasn’t fussing over him, but his creation. John blinked the fuzz from his vision and realized why.

Sticking from her wrist and breaking through the skin was a small metal rod, leaking a black…something. Her hand twitched and the rod twisted sickly, rolling in place. 

“It’s okay-you’re okay, you’re fine, it’s alright, Equius is here-Nepeta, Nepeta no, shhh-“

Something shrill cut through the dull ring in his ears, growing louder by the minute.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-“

“Nepeta, no-no shshhshshhshhhhh-“

“ _-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-_ ”

“Oh Church, oh Church, oh my Church, Nepeta, calm _down_ -“

“ _ **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHAAHAAAAAAAGHAHGHAAAHHGG-**_ ”

John stared wide-eyed. She was screaming. It was a screech that should have torn her throat to pieces, a scream of a being experiencing pain for the very first time, pure, agonizing pain.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“It was an accident-IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I DIDN’T MEAN TO-“ John had to shout to be heard over her rising screams.

“WHY WOULD YOU HURT HER?! WHY DID YOU HURT HER?!?!” Zahhak had gone rabid, red veins standing out on his eyes. He grabbed John by the shoulders and shook him.

“I DIDN’T-IT WAS AN ACCID-I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT HER-“

Her screams had reached an unbearable point by now, but the clockmaker didn’t even seem to notice it. He had reached a breaking point. John watched it happen in slow motion-Zahhak rearing back, his hand clenched in a mighty fist. Nepeta kneeling behind him, clutching her wrist as black oozed between her fingers. Miss Lalonde standing off in the crowd, watching the scene with nothing short of shock on her face.

_What would your father say?_

Then his skull bounced off the floor once more and everything went black.


	4. Lunch with Lalonde

“Cannot belieeeve…”

John groaned, rolling over and burying his face into the pillows. A lightningbolt of pain arched over and around his eye, lodging itself deep within his brain. He let out a low moan, willing her to leave.

“…You broke Mister Zahhaks toy.” Rose perched on the end of his bed, flipping through one of her old medical text books. “Seriously, John. I was surprised. I was under the impression you took more care of your playthings than that.”

“I didn’t break her, she broke!” John rolled over and looked at Rose through his good eye. “Wasn’t my fault.”

“John, John, Jonathan, John. From what I heard, you gripped her by the teats and flung her to the ground in your stead.” She smiled, glancing at him with half-lidded eyes. “That is no way to treat a lady. I don’t blame Mister Zahhak.”

John snorted, rubbing the bruised flesh puffed up around his eye. “For your information, I didn’t even touch her boobs. And even if I did, there wouldn’t have been anything to touch anyways.”

“Ah, so you looked, then. It’s impolite to stare, John.” She shut her book and turned to face him fully.

“Rose…” 

“I mean, granted, you _are_ a growing young man-”

“Rose, stop-”

“-And it’s only _natural_ that you feel these urges!”

“Rooooose, you sound like your mother-”

“As a matter of fact, John, you really should be exploring your sexuality a little more.”

“Aaaaagh stop okay not listening any more-”

“There is nothing wrong with finding yourself attracted to other males. How else are you supposed to know, John? It’s so narrow minded to limit yourself to members of the opposite sex; why, it practically cuts your chances of finding love in half-oohf!”

A pillow interrupted Rose’s monologue, bouncing off her head and tumbling to the floor. A few strands came loose from her head band and she tucked them back, pursing her lips together and desperately attempting to look furious. Her appearance was somewhat undermined by a giggle as she flung the pillow back, clocking John solidly in the eye. He yelped and fell back onto the bed, clutching the left hemisphere of his skull. Rose covered her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. 

“Aaaaagh my eeeeeeye Rose whyyyyyyyyyy…” John groaned, fresh pain sparking from the tender region. “Why would you do that, I’m probably all concussed again…”

“Oh shush, you had it coming. And it’s a pillow, not a cobblestone.” Rose rolled her eyes, cracking her book open again. “And it says here that if you’re not drooling blood by now, you’re going to be fine. You’re going to have a black eye for a few days, but…” She shrugged, unimpressed. “I hear some girls like that.”

“Yes, because I’ll have such an amazing story to go with it. ‘Nice black eye, it really brings out your pupils, how did you get it?’ ‘Oh, I got cold-cocked by a clockmaker with fists the size of hams.’” Rose swooned, fanning herself with the book.

“Oh dear me, John, I do believe I’ve come down with a case of the vapors. Your tale of mangrit has swayed my frozen heart. Suddenly my mother’s clumsy attempts to pair us together have finally come to fruition!” She ducked under another sailing pillow and raised an eyebrow. “Really? More pillows? John, you are a glutton for punishment.”

“Ugh, whatever, just _shut up, please._ If it weren’t for your mom I’d have never busted that guys automaton-thing.”

“Ah-ha. So you admit that you _did_ break her. It. Would it be a ‘her’ or an ‘it’?” She paused to consider the implications.

“Her. It’s a her,” John mumbled, staring at the ceiling. 

“Ah, but you said she was just clockwork. Gears and levers, pulleys and pistons. How can a thing be a her or him?” Rose pursed her lips, eager for a debate. John didn’t buy into it.

“I dunno. Just…is. Was. She’s a she.” John poked absently at his swollen eye, remembering the way she smiled at him, the way she skipped across the ballroom floor…the way she screamed. “Just feels like a ‘she’ to me, can’t explain it.”

Rose pouted, wrinkling her nose. “You are no fun at all, John. You know that right?” 

“ **I’M** no fun? Rose, you’re idea of a good time is convincing people that they’re all secretly homosexuals. Just because you kissed that Maryam girl on the cheek doesn’t suddenly make you an expert.” She cocked her head and raised a solitary eyebrow.

“Well at least I’ve kissed a girl. You don’t even understand how female anatomy works.” To emphasize her point, she pulled one of Johns study texts off the shelf and flipped it open to a random page. “Though I must admit, you are quite the artist. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lady with breasts larger than her head.”

John snatched the text book away, acutely aware of how red his ears were turning. “Rose, oh my Church-NO. I was bored, okay?!” He hastily ripped the margin out of the book and crumpled it. Rose rolled her eyes so hard he could practically hear the orbs grinding in their sockets. 

“John, it’s like I said, you’re a maturing young boy-”

“NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.”

He shoved her off the bed. Rose squealed, grabbing the sheets to halt her fall and pulling them down with her. John tumbled after her, swearing as he got tangled in the sheets. 

“ROSE-AGH, WHY, GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOU’RE PINNING THE CORNERS-”

“I WOULD IF YOU JUST GOT OFF ME-“

Miss Lalonde chose that exact moment to knock.

“Is everything alright in there? Rose? John, what’s going on?”

“Nothing-just a sec-” Miss Lalonde walked in before they had a chance to get untangled, her mouth opening in a small ‘o’ of surprise. 

“Oh. Oh my, I’m sorry, dears, if you need some time alone, I’ll just-”

“AGH. Mom, no. No no no-this isn’t what it looks like-” Rose kicked her way free of the sheets, clocking John squarely in the eye once more. He fell back with a yelp. “I just fell off the bed, and grabbed the sheet-”

“Well, I’m just glad to see you two getting along so well.” Miss Lalonde’s eyes sparkled happily. “Lunch is ready, when you two _love birds_ are done up here-”

“AAAGH MOM GET OUT!”

Miss Lalonde clicked her tongue as the pillow bounced off the doorframe, ducking out of the room.

“Young love, what a beautiful thiiiing~ Makes the heart throb and the angels siiiing…” She hummed the rest to herself as she descended the staircase, leaving Rose huffing by the door.

“I **swear** to **Church,** John, if she keeps trying to play matchmaker I’ll just go fall in love with a girl and make SURE there are no grandchildren for her to do this to.”

“That’s…nice…” John tried to sift reality from the stars that obscured his vision. “Can we **not** play ‘Hit John In The Face’ anymore? I always lose…”

Rose sighed and pulled him to his feet, making sure he could balance before letting him stand free. John wobbled and leaned against the book case. “Sorry, John…She has a way of getting under my skin some times.”

Rose led them from the room, starting their descent down the spiral staircase.

“She was talking about another ‘Play-Date’ at the ball last night.”

“Oh Church almighty.” 

They reached the dining room without further incident, greeted by Miss Lalonde’s smiling face. 

“Ah, there they are, the lovely couple.”

“Mom, we aren’t-”

“You came to lunch faster than I thought you would have! Jonathan, you’ll have to work on that.”

“OH MY GOD MOM, WE DIDN’T-”

“Try thinking of the dentist! That works with most men.”

“MOM-”

John filtered out the conversation, afraid that any look of horror he might make would stretch the puffed skin around his eye and cause him further discomfort. He’d grown used to lunch at the Lalonde’s, ever since his father had left for the Crusades. Unsurprisingly, Miss Lalonde had been thrilled to house John until his return. He’d receive a package last month of stale pastries from overseas, along with one of his father’s notes.

JOHN. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THEN THAT MEANS YOU HAVE RECEIVED MY PACKAGE. PLEASE ENJOY THE SCONES. IF THEY ARE NOT STALE BY NOW THEY WILL BE DELICIOUS. I AM SO VERY VERY PROUD OF YOU.

John kept the note pinned to the wall over his desk.

“…nsidered apologizing to the man? Jonathan? Jonathan. JOHN.”

John started, meeting Miss Lalonde’s glare.

“I _said,_ have you considered apologizing to Mr. Zahhak?” She tapped her fingers impatiently, cradling a glass of wine. Rose was sitting across from her, red faced, stabbing her potatoes with a vengeance.

“I, uh…I didn’t really get much time to try.” He poked his purpled eye, managing a small grin. Miss Lalonde wrinkled her nose, taking a sip.

“WELL, why don’t you go talk to him, then? Sort it out, offer to help him fix it.” _Her._ John nearly corrected her, but managed to nod instead. He had no idea how to work with clocks, and whatever was going on beneath Nepeta’s skin was well beyond his league. 

“I don’t know, though. She seemed pretty…advanced? I’m not sure how much help I would be. I’ve never even fixed a clock before….”

“Oh nonsense!” She waved her hand, wine slopping messily in the glass and threatening to spill over. “I did it once. It’s so easy to do it’s laughable!”

“…’s what they say about you…” Rose muttered under her breath, mashing a lumpy spud.

“What was that, dear?” 

“I said you didn’t fix the clock. You dropped it on the floor and it didn’t break. There’s a difference.”

“Ah, but I bent the hour hand back into shape! That counts!”

“It does NOT count! Bending a strip of metal has nothing to do with the delicate intricacies that go on beneath the surface of our cuckoo clock!”

John zoned the argument out once again, considering it. He was pretty sure that if he showed up the clockmaker would rearrange his brain with one of his freakishly large ham-hands again. He pushed the food around on his plate, thinking about his dad. _What would your father say?_ He knew exactly what Mr. Egbert would say. First of all, he’d reassure John that he was still very proud of him. Then he’d bake something. Then he’d make John take it to Zahhak’s shop and making amends. He sighed, pushing his plate away. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. 

“I suppose I _should_ talk to him, at least-”

“Well maybe if you didn’t undermine me every chance you got, I wouldn’t have to be so overbearing!”

“Oh, right, and I suppose the sea of red wine staining your mouth with has _nothing_ to do with your points falling flat! It’s _me_ who’s undermining you, not your drunken brainmatter misfiring all the time-“

“Yes, dear, it _is_ you, with all of your snide, passive aggressive comments. I’m only doing what’s best for you and you take that as leave to walk all over me. If you would just let your mother take care of you I’m sure you’d find-”

“I’m passive aggressive _because_ you’re always trying to control everything! What else am I supposed to do, sit by quietly when you’re planning my life without my consent?!”

“Don’t you talk to your mother like that-”

“What was that? I’m sorry, you’re slurring your words, mother.”

“You know very well that this is only my second glass for today! I am not the least bit inebriated, and there is nothing wrong with enjoying a glass of wine with your meal! Really, Rose, you’re being hurtful-”

“Nothing wrong with a _glass,_ but every meal every day and the times between-”

“I do NOT have a drinking problem! Maybe if you weren’t such a dry little tart and enjoyed a glass every now and then, you’d be more enjoyable! THEN perhaps you could find a suitable young man on your own and I wouldn’t have to baby-sit your love life-”

“FOR YOUR INFORMATION, MY LOVE LIFE IS HEALTHY AND VIBRANT! I ENJOY A WIDE SELECTION OF POTENTIAL MATES AND I CAN PICK ANY ONE OF THEM AT MY LEASUIRE-”

“LIKE WHO?! THAT WHORE DOWN THE STREET WHO YOU PAID FOR A KISS?! I WASN’T GOING TO BRING IT UP, BUT YOU’VE FORCED MY HAND-”

John slipped from the room quietly. He wasn’t particularly worried; he'd grown used to life at the Lalonde's over the past few months. This argument as going to take a while to blow over, but he didn't doubt that they'd do what they always did. They’d scream at one another till one started to cry, then they’d both cry, then they’d hug, then they’d apologize and swear to never fight again-it happened so often it was almost comical. The faint screams of furious women followed him down the hall, and it was only once he’d made it out the door and down the street did their screeches fade in the distance.


	5. Darkstokes and Clockleer

The streets of Greater English were a hive of activity, as they were every day. Goods, freshly imported from the harbor, were thrown into the backs of carts and rushed to the cobblestoned streets of Middle Greater English to be peddled by the merchants. Anything and everything you could possibly want could be bought there. Stalls filled with exotic fish plundered from the depths of the ocean filled the air with the stench of fresh sea fish. Booths crammed with glistening jewels and treasures gained by measures not fully disclosed caught the eye of anyone who happened to wander past. Speakbeasts and treebeasts and all other assorted manner of beasts cried their respective calls from their wicker cages. It was a metaphorical shotgun of sensory stimulants.

John weaved his way through the market stalls, his nobleman clothing making him a sure target for the enthusiastic vendors. He lingered at a trinkets booth, glancing over the clever little toys painted in bright colors. Fantastic contraptions of wood and string and glue, each begging to have their secrets unlocked. Rose had always been better at the puzzles than him, but he wasn't deterred from picking up a curious little box with a cat and mouse painted on the side. He pushed at the wooden slides, trying to get a feel for the mechanics behind it.

"HEY! You wanna play, you gotta pay. Five boonbucks, cheap. Special price, just for you." The merchant snatched the puzzle from his hands and waved it under Johns nose. He flinched and pulled back.

"Sorry! Sorry, I was just looking-"

"No, you WEREN'T. You were getting your stupid little grabbers all over my merchandise. You pay, _then_ you get to touch, that's how it works.!" The vendor slapped Johns questing fingers away, holding the box just out of his reach. "Five boonbucks. It's a steal. Fun shit, imported. Holy land. Super rare, one of a kind. You buying or what?"

Holy land? The merchant was obviously trying to take him for a ride. John frowned and crossed his arms. "It's a lump of wood, and there is no way I'm paying five whole boonbucks for that.” He paused, appraising the trinket. “I'll do two."

"This isn't a fucking negotiation, you shit-splitting waste of air. Clean the copious amount of moron out of your ears or read my fucking lips; _five boonbucks._ Great deal."

John shook his head and stepped away, only for the crabby merchant to grab him by the sleeve.

"ALRIGHT! Alright, alright, _fine._ Let's make a deal-if you can solve this thing in under a minute, you can get it for two. You can't, you pay ten. Sound good?"

John considered it. When he'd handled the piece, he'd noticed a groove on the bottom. If he could just slide the outside arm along it, he'd be able to get the box to open. Stifling a grin, he took the puzzle from the merchant, already imagining the vendors furious glare once the contraption was solved...

 

* * *

 

John spent the next ten minutes walking to Darkstokes and Clockleer in a furious silence and ten boonbucks lighter. There had been a second groove he hadn’t noticed, right next to the first. He pulled the puzzle from his picket and turned it over in his palm, fiddling with the slider bar. He had to admit-it was a well-made puzzle. The individual components fit together snugly, and he couldn't see any obvious solutions. Rose would get it. He pocketed the contraption and fumed. He knew that he'd break down eventually and ask her to solve it, but it didn't make things any less irritating.

The rest of his trip was uneventful enough. Darkstokes and Clockleers came into view gradually, wedged primly on the corner of Hustle and Ussi street. Varnished wooden trim lined the windows and doorframe, glowing gold against the black-washed siding and utterly outshining the neighboring shops. The sign hanging above the door frame proudly declared the shops name, each letter painted with loving care and attention. He'd passed by the place a thousand times before, but he'd never actually gone inside. Judging by the darkened windows and the "closed" sign on the door, it didn't look like he would today, either.

"Mother fuuuuu..." He hissed a swear under his breath, stopping outside the darkened store window. Really? It was nearly one o'clock. He hadn't thought Mr. Zahhak would be the kind of person to take Saturdays off. John cupped his hands around the corners of his vision and pressed up against the glass, searching the interior for clues. It was pristine; clocks of every shape and design hung from the walls in neat rows, each pendulum swinging in time with its companions. From where he stood he could hear the faint tick and tock of the passage of time. He sighed, breath misting the window. They were closed. He turned to leave, but a flicker of movement caught his eye. Squinting, he could see a door in the back corner, slightly ajar. He waited and, sure enough, he caught sight of a shadow slipping through the crack. Hope restored, he leaned over and hammered his fist on the door. Each blow rattled the panes in the windows, and he paused to scan the shop for movement.

There was a shuffle and Mr. Zahhak emerged from the back, wringing a dirty rag between his mitts. John could hear his voice, faint at first, but increasing in volume as he approached.

"...one time I take a day off, can't get any work done in peace-we are CLOSED, the sign CLEARLY STATES-" He wretched the door open, leaning out to yell at whatever noble had the misfortune to bang on his door. He opened his mouth furiously, only to falter as he saw who it was.

"O-oh."

The rage behind his goggles faded, leaving an embarrassed grimace behind. His gaze darted to John's blackened eye.

"Young Egbert."

John took a moment to seriously rethink this decision. For a split second, he thought the clockmaker was going to hit him. In hindsight, this route of an apology was more counterproductive than he had anticipated. Bothering the man on his day off wasn't the best decision he'd made so far.

"Mr. Zahhak, I was…um…in the neighborhood and, I thought-" John faltered, unsure of the best way to go about his apology.

"No! No, no, that's quite alright, I was...ah...hoping you would come by." Mr. Zahhak stepped back, holding the door ajar. "Please, come inside."

A flurry of insane thoughts flickered through John's mind and he dismissed them best he could. It was unlikely that Mr. Zahhak was trying to lure him into his shop to seek revenge for the damage done to his creation. Unlikely. Not entirely removed from the realm of possibility, but a solid "unlikely." John stepped inside tentatively.

Darkstokes and Clockleer reeked of metal shavings and clockgrease. It was an offensive odor and it stung his sinuses, but he could see how one might grow used to the smell. A subtle click cut through the air and he twisted, turning in time to see Mr. Zahhak lock the door behind them. His heart rate tripled.

"...keep out unwanted visitors..." The clockmaker turned, noting John's horrified expression and amended sheepishly, "We've...had a number of break in's, as of late. Nothing was taken, but…one can never be too careful."

Right. Of course. That made sense. He stepped away as Mr. Zahhak passed by, watching warily. John willed his heart back to a resting rate and banished his paranoid thoughts. Inside, the synchronized tick tock was louder, dominating the room with its steady pace. The entire shop had a pulse, beating exactly one beat per second. John likened it to living inside of a giant heart, and found it oddly soothing. The clockmaker disappeared into the back. As he nudged the door open, a soft glow of light illuminated the darkened shop. John braced himself and followed him inside.

"Woah."

If the front had been neat and tidy, then the back was where chaos and disorder reigned. Shattered clocks, their chassis ripped asunder and their delicate insides exposed to the open air, sat on cluttered work benches. Stools that may have once provided a place of rest were now heaped high with rags and scraps, acting as make-shift benches and shelves for the overflowing mess. Attempts at organization had been made, as evidenced by the chalk outlines of tools along the wall. Judging by the empty hooks, these attempts had been abandoned a long time ago. A greasy light hung overhead, bathing the room in a warm, if spotty, light. John was so overwhelmed by the mess that he didn't see where the clockmaker had gone till he cleared his throat.

"Ahem. I believe the two of you have met?"

Equius Zahhak was standing nervously in the very back, surrounded by towers of scrapped metal and debris. If she hadn't moved, John would have missed Nepeta. She tilted her head, seated across from the clockmaker on a relatively clean cloth draped over the grease stained work bench. Her eyes lit up with recognition and she waved. Her entire forearm had been replaced; a small, black, twisted stretch of metal that folded in eerily on itself. Mr. Zahhak followed John's gaze, pursing his lips and taking her inhuman hand in his.

"I've fashioned a replacement, to ease her repairs." He gestured to Nepeta's broken forearm, removed and gripped in a vice on the work bench. If it wasn't for the broken slivers of metal and tools jutting from a gap in the wrist, it could have easily been mistaken for a severed arm. "These are...formative times, for her. It is important that she not be without an arm for too long, and I'm afraid the repairs may take some time."

John smiled nervously, unsure of what to say. The whole experience was incredibly unsettling. Nepeta followed his eyes interestedly, her shock-blue tail twitching behind her. John avoided her gaze, acutely aware of the last time they had met. Mr. Zahhak went on, turning his attention to the arm.

"I've been educating Nepeta on the repairs. She’s been learning at an astonishing rate; faster than I anticipated. Her mastery of the subject is far beyond that of someone her relative age. It is impressive, really; I had not expected such clairvoyant understanding of such complex materials on her part. A pleasant surprise, really! Very soon I hope she will be able to facilitate her own repairs, in case I..." He faltered, withdrawing his fingertips from the metallic tendons. He resumed, speaking deliberately. "In case I am indisposed, for any reason."

An awkward silence followed his proclamation, and for a moment John thought he'd been forgotten. After a moment the clockmaker turned, seemingly noticing his guest once more.

"Oh, well, in any case, I was hoping to see you again." He checked Nepeta once more, making sure she was watching. "I would like to apologize for what happened. I realize that the…‘incident’…was an unfortunate accident. My reaction was not exactly...appropriate. I should have known better than to lose my temper, but things have been difficult for me since…a few years ago, at least. I had hoped I had put such brash actions behind me, but obviously I still have a great deal of self-control to learn. Now, it is important that Nepeta learn to take responsibility for her actions. Since she learns from example, it is only necessary and proper that I take responsibility for mine. As such, I would like to...apologize. I am sorry, Young Egbert. I hope that you will forgive me for my momentary lapse in control."

The clockmaker bowed his head, hands clenched tightly at his side. John hesitated, taken aback by the turn of events.

“Mr. Zahhak, wow, I…I don’t know what to say! I guess…apology accepted?” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unnerved by the bizarre scenario. “I had actually come by because…well, I had wanted to apologize! I know that you worked hard on her, and I really should have been more careful-”

The clockmaker breathed a sigh of relief and waved John off. “No, it was an accident, I understand. In the end it was my fault; if Nepeta couldn’t withstand a fall, then my poor engineering was at fault. The mechanisms in her wrists were built without that level of strain in mind. I should have anticipated that Nepeta would have been subject to the slings and arrows of everyday life; a tumble, a scrape, sharp objects and hard objects, etcetera, etcetera. Come! Come here, look at this.”

Mr. Zahhak beckoned John closer, letting him peer into the gap of the severed arm. Various black tubes, wound tightly around metal rods and pistons, filled the tony space. Screws so fine they may as well have been metal splinters held the tendons in place, and light glinted off the polished interior brightly. The clockmaker picked up a slender tool and gesticulated to a small rod leading to the curled pinky finger.

“See, now, it was this rod here that had fractured from her fall. Thankfully it did not puncture the joint but rather punched through the outer lining, which saved me quite a bit of work! I’ve since reinforced the junctures with this mesh you see here, which should withstand most of the shock forces she would experience in everyday life.”

He straightened up, beaming. John stared into the mess of black and silver spaghetti a moment longer before grinning, as though he understood what he was talking about. “Wow! That’s…brilliant, Mr. Zahhak.” He glanced back at Nepeta, who continued to stare with wide, innocent eyes and a small smile. The cruel metal arm that jutted from her elbow was a constant reminder that she was a manufactured being, not an odd girl with a strange, blue tail. Otherwise, John would have easily forgotten.

“Can she…” He wanted to say ‘think,’ but the word seemed inappropriate somehow. He knew she could think; she’d made the nobles laugh, she’d learned the dance steps, she’d even learned how to fix her own arm. John bailed, choosing ‘speak’ instead. “Can she speak? Like, can she hold a conversation?”

Equius Zahhak crossed his arms triumphantly. “Why don’t you ask her?”

A moment of silence passed before he turned to face her fully.

“Can you…talk?”

“Yes!”

Nepeta drummed her heels on the side of the workbench, tilting her head and staring at John, amused. John swallowed and smiled back nervously.

“I’m…um…I’m sorry. About last night. At the party. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Nepeta giggled, her tail swaying behind her gently.

“It’s okay. We are have to furgive each other, right? You furgive’ed Eqweeus when he said he was sorry! I furgive you, young embart.” Her words were soft and stumbled, but spoken with meaning. A lisp tumbled from her lips over some of the more difficult words, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“We are ‘supposed’ to ‘for’give, Nepeta,” Equius corrected gently. “And you only forgive if they really mean it when they say they’re sorry.” Nepeta frowned, looking back at John.

“You mean it when you say you’re sorry, young embart?” She phrased it oddly, as though she were checking rather than asking a question. John nodded emphatically.

“I do! And John. You can call me John.”

She giggled, clasping her hands together. They met with a metallic ring, and she banged them together a few more times for emphasis.

“Is kay! Furgive you, John.” The clockmaker went to correct her speech again, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I furgive you because you mean it! And because Eqweeus likes you, and because you dance’ed with me, and because we are furiends!” She giggled again before leaning in and whispering urgently, “but mostly because we are furiends.” She stopped to consider what she had just said, then tilted her head and asked, “we _are_ furiends, right John?”

John bit his lip to keep from giggling.

“Yeah. We’re furiends, Nepeta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I accidentally deleted this chapter two separate times. That, combined with the two exams I had this week, is why it took so long to write. I'd rather not lose too much momentum, but, damn. Having to write this chapter three times pretty much killed me. 
> 
> This chapter also comes with a generalized clean up and tweak of the previous chapters. Most notable is that "Madam Lalonde" is now "Miss Lalonde." Rolls off the tongue easier. I'm also considering folding chapters 1 and 2 together, since they're so short, but it's easier to write in short sections like that. Idk, if anyone cares leave a comment below. If a few people think they're too short I'll fold them, but otherwise probably leave it alone.
> 
> Regardless of either choice, I do appreciate feedback! Errors, ambiguous descriptions, etc, let me know. I strive to please.


	6. Girl with the Violin

“I was almost finished, when you came in,” Zahhak grunted, interrupting the exchange. He had turned his attention back to the arm and was delicately twisting a few of the metal splinters around. “But, I’m afraid I’ve run into a bit of a problem.” Nepeta nodded eagerly in agreement. 

“Mhm! I have five-double u-ten grade oil fur the finer meckanan—fur the mechinan –fur the, um…”

“Mechanisms,” Equius finished idly, not lifting up from the arm.

“Right! I have that fur those in the arm!” She lifted her wrist, rolling it in a circle. “And, and you can only get that kinda oil furom glow-shrooms, which come furom the east! The lower viscosiminity – ”

“Viscosity,” Equius corrected.

“Mhm! Vischosisity! It makes the gears turn better and makes me move easier! But, but glow-shroom oil has high surface tenshun, so it doesn’t evapurate like low-grade oils do!” She sat back, looking pleased with herself. Equius gave a wiry grin and chuckled under his breath.

“That’s a bit of an over-simplification, but yes. I’ve had difficulty obtaining the oil in large enough quantities to keep her supplied. The extraction process is simple enough, but there isn’t much of a demand for **Omphalotus olearius** this far west of the Holy lands.” He heaved a sigh. “No one wants a glowing poisonous mushroom these days. I’ve had to order them in special, but it’s a rather expensive and taxing way to supplement my supplies. But until I’ve secured a more viable substitute, it will have to do.”

Nepeta twisted around, her tail twitching to keep her balance as she picked up a tin oil can behind her. “And we can’t use regular oil, beclaws Equius says it catches on fire too easily, and he doesn’t know what to dope it with to make it not do that thing.” She rambled on excitedly, explaining the various doping concentrations and their results. John, despite his best efforts, found his understanding of the subject slipping each time she brought up a new tidbit of information. The way she explained was simplistic, but the sheer volume she could rattle off was overwhelming. He found himself counting the seconds between each of her breaths and trying not to focus on the way her chest rose and fell with each one.

“As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to meet my supplier in Lower Greater English. He’s recently acquired a number of artifacts from the Holy Lands and I was sure to request a fresh supply of Omphalotus olearius the last time I saw him.” The clockmaker pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving two greasy black fingerprints on either side. He paused and perked up, looking at John with interest. 

“Actually, perhaps you could assist me with that. As I mentioned earlier, there’s been a number of break-ins as of late and I would prefer not to leave the store if at all possible. Do you think that, perhaps, you’d be willing to meet with my supplier in my stead?”

John blinked and scratched his head uncertainly. “Oh, I, ah…I don’t really know, I didn’t really plan on being away for too long. Miss Lalonde would probably get worried if I’m gone for too much longer, and Lower Greater English is kind of a ways away…”

Nepeta stuck out her lower lip and turned her big glass eyes on John. “Aw, purlease, John? I don’t like this arm, it’s loud and I can’t feel things!” She tapped her wrist for emphasis before clasping her hands together.

“Purleeeeease?”

Equius stifled a grin, looking at the boy expectantly. John waffled, trying to delay the inevitable. Lower Greater English was nearly a half-hour round-trip from where they were, and truth be told he wasn’t exactly a fan of the district. Granted, it was still in Greater English, but on occasion the more unsavory characters from Lesser English would slink through. Their stares were unsettling, and his noble attire made him stand out from the crowd more than he was comfortable with.

“Well…I guess, but I really don’t know the Lower Greater all that well…”

The clockmaker clapped his hands together, startling John. “Nonsense! It’s really not as complex as it seems. The streets aren’t laid out in concentric circles like the Upper Greater is, so it seems unfamiliar at first. Here, I’ll draw you a map and give you the payment and you’ll be off before you know it!”

Equius cast about for a pencil, digging through the heaps of rubbish before pulling the splintered nub of one out from under a pile of gears. He turned to search for a scrap of parchment as well, only to be stymied by the grease-stained shreds poking out of the mess.

“Fiddlesticks, I’ll have to get a square from up front, one moment, young Egbert.” 

He squeezed past John and ducked out the door, leaving John with the strange clockwork girl. He smiled half-heartedly, wondering if perhaps coming by to apologize was a mistake. Nepeta, on the other hand, seemed thrilled to have company. 

“Eqweus is too messy,” she blurted out. She giggled and wrinkled her nose, still drumming her heels on the cupboard. “I telled him he needs to get cleaned up but he just gets all sad and says that it just gets away from him. But he tried anyways, though! See?” She pointed towards a few cans that had been hastily stacked in the corner. John tried not to laugh at the half-hearted attempt to tidy up.

“Well, he works a lot, so I guess he just doesn’t have time to clean?” John stood awkwardly in the center of the room, trying not to brush by any of the junk lest he ruin his clothes with grease. Nepeta just sighed and rolled her eyes.

“But he’s ALWAYS working! He doesn’t want to play beclaws it’s ‘too important to teach you these things, Nepeta!’” She deepened her voice to try and mimic his, but it came out squeaky. John couldn’t help but chuckle.

“He doesn’t really seem like the type who spends a lot of time playing around.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and felt the puzzle he’d bought earlier clink gently. Taken by a sudden idea, he pulled it out and held it up in the light. Nepeta’s eyes followed the colorful toy, enchanted.

“Oh, I suppose you could play with this, if he’s too busy.” He rolled the toy between his hands, noting the way Nepeta’s eyes followed it.

“What is it?”

“It’s just a little puzzle-toy. I picked it up from some crabby merchant on my way over, it’s supposed to be from the Holy Lands.” Nepeta made a soft noise of interest and he went on. “You, um. You gotta get this slide bar all the way around, I think, so you can get the little ball out. But the other pieces keep getting in the way, even though they all slide around too…it’s really an interesting piece. Do you…wanna…give it a try?” 

He held the puzzle out tentatively and Nepeta eagerly snatched it up. She turned the device over excitedly, marveling at the bright and colorfully pictures painted onto the wood.

“Here we are, I’ve the map and the payment right here…” Equius slipped back into the room, clutching a modest stack of paper and a small pouch. He dropped the stack on one of the already over-crowded stools and picked up the top one. He folded it briskly and handed it over to John along with the pouch of boonbucks. 

“Now then, once you meet with my supplier give him this – ” Equius lifted off another sheet, folding it over before pressing it into John’s hand, “and he’ll produce the Omphalotus olearius. Then you’ll supply him with the payment – ” he pointed towards the small pouch, “and then you’ll return promptly to Darkstokes and Clockleer with the mushrooms. I’ll be able to extract the oil myself, so you won’t have to worry about that.” 

Equius shuffled past John once again, settling down at the workbench with a grunt. “I should be able to have the arm repaired shortly; all that’s really needed is the oil, you see.” John nodded nervously, unfolding the map to see exactly where he’d be going. It wasn’t too bad; it didn’t look like he’d have to go much further than halfway through the district. He wouldn’t be going anywhere near where it bordered High Lesser English. He folded it back up, looking over at Nepeta. 

She seemed engrossed with the puzzle and was already sliding pieces around; it looked like she’d even gotten further than he did. Still, she had the presence of mind to look up and flash John a brief smile. 

“Good bye, John friend! Hurry back!”

John smiled nervously back, cramming the papers and pouch into a pocket. He decided to leave the puzzle with her; she seemed to be enjoying herself, and he’d be back soon enough. He nodded his head and gave a half-hearted wave before slipping out of the room. 

The front of the shop seems cold and sterile compared to the warm mess from the back room, and he doesn’t waste any time letting himself out. The door chimed and automatically locked itself behind him, presumably due to some sort of mechanism the clockmaker had installed. John checked his pockets one last time before setting off.

The route Equius had drawn for him lead him south, past the shop and heading further down-hill. He set off at a brisk pace but had barely gone half a dozen blocks when someone called out to him.

“Hello, love, care for a tune?”

John turned, defensively shoving his hands into his pockets to double-check the pouch and papers. It was an obvious tell, and he kicked himself for being so overt. Thankfully, the one who called out to him was just a young girl, barely older than him, standing on the sidewalk with a violin tucked under her chin. He hesitated, and she jumped on the pause immediately.

“Any song you want, so’s long as you can play it on the violin, that is. Won’t cost you a boonnickle! Though donations are always ‘preciated.” She tapped her toe against the open case on the ground. Sensing his wavering resolve, she pressed the attack. “Come on, then! Wot’s it going to be?”

John sighed, glancing down the street. It wasn’t very crowded, and truth be told he wouldn’t mind an excuse to delay his inevitable visit to the Lower Greater. He shrugged and picked one of his favorites at random. “Do you know ‘The Prince and the Page’?”

The girl smiled, setting her fingers on the neck. “Ah, yes, fan of the Strider Symphonies, are we? Can’t say that’s a common request; usually all they ever want to hear is ‘Kitten in the Cave’ or ‘The Heir’s Hare in a Box’ or some other Church-tired nursery rhyme. You’ve got taste, I’ll give you that.”

She rested her bow on the strings and let her eyes ease shut. She breathed deep and, after a brief moment of concentration, began. The strings hummed as she drew back, then rose an octave as she pushed forward. It was a mellow, almost melancholy tune. The story was supposedly of a young prince who had fallen in love with his page, only for his love to go unrequited. Though it never lingered on the more sorrow notes, John had always found it to have an over-arching veil of sadness. It was a beautiful song, and in his opinion, woefully underrated.

“You’re pretty good,” he noted, watching how her fingers nimbly pressed each string with well-practiced precision. He counted the beats between each rise and fall, taking the time to examine the violinist a bit closer.

“Years of practice, love.” She was tall, taller than John. She was pretty, to be certain. Her skin was pale, most likely due to the wide felt cap that sat cockishly on her mess of black hair to protect her from the sun, and her slender fingers danced and kicked at the strings with confidence. Despite her humble work as a street performer, her clothes were surprisingly nice. A rich, deep blue vest covered a slightly-too-large shirt, which had its ends tucked carefully into her breeches. John managed to count to twenty before she noticed he was looking her over.

“I’m glad I’m a nice sight, but the visual wasn’t exactly the feature presentation here.” John blushed and redirected his attention to her violin. She didn’t seem to mind, though, and had begun swaying gently with the song.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to be admired every once in a while, but I’m not really a piece of meat to get looked over like I’m hanging up in a butcher shop, am I?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to – ”

“Should I turn around and show off me bum? Maybe do away with the violin all together?”

“No!” John floundered, feeling his face burn hotter and hotter.

She laughed lightly, seeming to delight in his discomfort. “Oh really? So you weren’t looking me over just then? That’s a shame, you seemed like a cute one. Would have plucked you off the street and gobbled you up. But, like you said, you don’t fancy me; maybe you think I’m homely, is that it?”

John’s eyes widened as she cocked an eyebrow accusingly. “Wh-no! You’re pretty, I just meant that – ”

“Ah, so NOW I’m pretty? Trying to get under my trousers, is that it? Just admit it love, you were oogling me then and I can’t say I rightly ‘preciate it.” He opened his mouth, confused and mortified. There was just no winning with this girl! She laughed again, sensing his defeat and running the bow easily across the strings. “Oh, calm down, love, I’m just teasing is all. You seem sweet enough, no hard feelings, hmm?”

John slunk down, embarrassed beyond belief. A few passerby’s who had heard the exchange chuckled along with the girl and he wished he could sink right through the cobblestones. “Y-yeah. No hard feelings.”

The girl smiled triumphantly. “Let me make it up to you, hmm? No charge, this one’s on the house. Church knows that laugh was well worth it and it’s rare enough I get to play one of the Strider Symphonies.” 

John furrowed his brow, ready to point out that her performance had been technically free when she cut him off.

“What’s a young lad like you doing out and about on such a fine Saturday? Going for a visit to old Zahhak?” She nodded towards the shop he’d just come out of, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “Thought his shop was closed today.”

John shrugged, trying to forget the past few minutes. “I’m…running errands for him.”

“Ooh? Errands? How mysterious, is it got anything to do with that girl he’s got tucked away in his shop?” 

John nodded, making a conscious effort to not get caught staring again. “I’m just picking up some parts. I kinda got roped into it, you see.”

She grinned knowingly, bouncing the bow off the strings. “Playing the hero for old Zahhak, then? What parts are you picking up?”

He furrowed his brow, trying to remember the name. “Oomphalius…Ompalette-us…ah, some kind of glowing mushroom?”

“ **Omphalotus olearius?** ”

John blinked in surprise. “Yeah, that was it. How did you know?”

She shrugged ambiguously, focusing on her violin. “You hear things from time to time, you know how it is. I don’t suppose you know how that thing works, do you?”

“You mean the girl?” John corrected unthinkingly. “Ah, no, not really. I saw some kinds of…rods, and wires and stuff, but I didn’t really get a good look.” 

The girl pursed her lips, looking him in the eye. A tense moment passed by before she shrugged, finishing the symphony with a custom flourish. “Ah, well, can’t suppose you know everything, hmm? Empty-headed little noble like you wouldn’t be able to pick that up at just a glance.”

John frowned at the sudden change of demeanor. “Jeez, I’m sorry alright? I wasn’t trying to study it, I barely even saw what was going on.”

“No, no, it’s fine, love. I’d just love to hear more about how it-ah, I mean she-works is all. You’ll let me know if you find anything else out, won’t you sweetheart?” She fluttered her eyelashes and his gut twisted.

“Uh…yeah! Of course! I just…I just wasn’t really looking, was all.” John took a step back, a little disturbed by the strange encounter. The violinist flashed him a vicious grin and for a split second, she wasn’t the sweet girl who had played for him just a few moments ago. She was a predator.

But then the moment passed and she set her bow to her strings once more, starting up a new tune to entice further customers. John hesitated for a moment, then turned and headed south once more.

What an odd girl.

Sure was pretty, though.

**Author's Note:**

> So, work in progress. 
> 
> Comments and feedback are appreciated and encouraged.
> 
> First fic, kinda ambitious. Wish me luck!


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